


If I Get Closer I'll Burn

by Syri



Category: Cain Saga and Godchild
Genre: Canon Typical Violence, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Sibling bickering, alexis being a fuck, references to incest cause duh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-10-05 21:08:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17332385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syri/pseuds/Syri
Summary: Injured and near blacking out, Jezabel finds his way to Cain's manor. Angst, h/c and fucked up brotherly...bonding type things ensue





	If I Get Closer I'll Burn

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas Sweet! She asked for Jezabel and Cain interaction!

Cain wished he knew how he'd gotten into this situation, he really did, but there didn't seem to be an easy explanation. Somehow, despite the 12 foot wall, the security men, the footmen and stable boys and the gardener and the maids, despite it all, somehow, Jezabel had managed to get inside the damn manor. Cain had nightmares like this, more than once, of the doctor sneaking down the hallways, hiding beneath beds or inside wardrobes like a boogeyman, to slice open their throats as they slept. Or, more usually, to slice open Mary's throat and drag Cain to see the remnants before doing the same to him.

However, Dr. Disraeli did not currently look to be in the throat-slashing, eye gouging mood. He certainly wasn't in the lurk calmly and quietly underneath bed skirts mood. Indeed, it seemed he was very squarely in the howl like a wildcat and fling himself at walls mood, which still seemed...in character for the madman.

It started like this. Cain had been passing a quiet night, not in bed as he ought to have been at such an unholy hour, but at his desk in the next room, cross referencing a symptom sheet on bloodroot from one book to another, to find any errors for his own devices, when the sounds began. One floor below, a heavy, solid clunk, like a heavy object knocked off a high shelf. Then the wailing began, a mix of high-pitched cries and deep, guttural sobbing. By then Cain had his pistol, loaded and ready in his hands as he raced down the grand staircases of the manor and to- oh, lovely, Uncle Neil's office. Of all places an intruder or poltergeist or wounded animal would choose to make a mess, it was the one area where Cain could not easily sweep everything aside.

He'd expected a robber, a madman, a vagrant or a beast. He did not expect a flurry of silver and rubies to be flung across the floor. There was Jezabel, hair unbound and hanging in tangles down to his waist, clotted at the roots by thick, congealing clumps of blood. The same liquid stained his usually immaculate clothing, changing the already garishly clashing colors all to a muddied palette of red and near black. Bruises flourished around his jaw and neck, a riot of plums and purples and more brilliant red, all standing against a grotesquely pale complexion.

"Jesus Chri-" Cain breathed, unable to draw in enough breath to even finish 3 syllables. He was far too overwhelmed with the myriad of possibilities swirling around his sleep deprived mind, not the least of which was, Dear God I'm going to die tonight. Though the pistol still lay firm and cool in his hand, a heavy and reassuring weight of safety, something kept him from immediately setting off a round. Curiosity, perhaps, his innate need to solve problems and understand the world around him. Although shock and fear were also very strong contenders.

"Jezabel, what in God's name are you-are you doing here? What's wrong with you?!"

Jezabel didn't seem interested in answering; hell, he barely seemed to be aware of Cain's presence in the room. His eyes were wide, red-rimmed and dilated, like he hadn't slept in some time, and the hue just made the tone of his violet eyes stand out with even more contrast than usual.

"...Doctor?" Still he kept the gun half-lowered. "You're...bleeding..."

Finally something seemed to click in Jezabel's mind, and he raised a thin, shaky hand up to his temple and brought it back down to see the blood smeared over his fingertips. His pale lips parted, for breath or for words, but neither seemed to come easily.

Cain's pulse was increasing with every moment, till he could hear it thrumming wildly in his ears, but his apprehension was not enough to stop him from taking a tentative step forward. 

"Jezabel?"

"...I...my head..." Jezabel's words were soft as ash from the fireplace, floating through the warm light from a settling log. Intesnly watching his hand, he moved his fingers together, coating more of his skin with the red liquid, and when he looked back up his face was a mix of terrified and mournful. "Where...why am I...here?"

A pang of sympathy rose in Cain's chest, but it was fleeting, and almost immediately replaced by a much more sane emotion; suspicion. In one move Cain had his arms up, straight ahead, his pistol trained steadily at his half-brothers chest. This had to be a trick; Jezabel was charming and deceptive, he'd seen it himself, as well as soon the victims of his intricate performances. An agent of Delilah would, of course, be a master of lies. Who knew what Jezabel might have up his sleeves, literal or metaphorical, or who might be lurking just outside, ready to come in swinging?

"Don't move," Cain ordered, working to keep his breath calm and even; a deep breath could be enough to offset his aim, and this close to a madman he doubted he'd get more than one shot. "I'm on to you, doctor, I'm not going to fall for your trickery. Whoever you've drug here can come out or leave. Pick one."

Jezabel did as he was told. Sort of. He stayed still, but it was impossible to tell if he did so out of respect for Cain's weapon or simply because such words were beyond his ability to understand. The look in his eyes was so distant and so vacant, almost, that Cain really wondered if he could hear him.

"...Doctor? Who did you come here with?"

Again Jezabel reached for himself, this time placing his hands against his bruised throat, wincing and pulling his hand away.

And then he moved, and everything fell apart at once. All in the span of about 4 seconds, Jezabel took one clumsy, unsteady step forward, and without hesitation, Cain tightened his finger on the trigger. But Jezabel fell first, before he could even get out his shot, pitching forward to crumble onto the Persian rug.

Too late though. Cain's gun still went off, filling the room with a deafening bang, the bullet lodging itself into the oak moulding around the ceiling. To add to all this, the door behind him flew open so hard it sounded like the handle might have slammed into the wall, and Riff was immediately at Cain's side, looking just as lost as both brothers were at this point.

Well, as lost as Cain was; Jezabel may or may not even be alive. 

With the aftermath of the bullet still ringing in his ears, Cain stared down at the floor where his brother lay motionless, then over to Riff, who looked just as clueless as Cain felt.

"My...my Lord?" And God but those two words held in them such a plea for understanding but fuck if Cain could provide it; he was still waiting to wake up at his desk, having surely fallen sleep during his studies, to find all of this was simply a stress dream!

Riff was the first to break their spell, the one that turned them to ineffective statues, and hesitantly approached the body on the floor, crouching down beside Jezabel and reaching out for his arm. Rolling back the sleeve to his coat and shirt, he felt for his wrist, pressing two fingers against the soft flesh.

"He's alive," he said simply, not expressing either relief or disappointment. It was nearly an observation, and he looked behind him to Cain, obviously awaiting orders as to what to do about this...mess.

Yes...waking up any time now...aaany time...

)o(

Jezabel remained unconscious for several more minutes, long enough for Riff to carry him to a guest room on the next floor up, one at the very end of a scarcely used hallway, far away from Mary's room. She was, blessedly, away for a weekend at the shore with a distant cousin, but just having Jezabel in the house seemed to contaminate the air, and he wanted him as far away from Mary's room as possible, lest his sickness spread.

They laid him out on the cornflower blue bedding, Cain making the mental note to burn those blankets rather than try to scour the blood from them, and he made the immediate decision that they were better safe than sorry. Jezabel needed to be tied down, lest he wake and decide he felt good enough to start something. Cord was taken from the drapes, each end knotted around one of Jezabel's wrists, the center wove through the loops of the wrought-iron bed'frame. It was then that their tiny shred of luck ran out. A soft groan escaping his lips, Jezabel began to stir, his eyes wrinkling as he squeezed them tighter before peeking them open. Behind blonde lashes, they seemed clouded, foggy, and there wasn't much recognition there, even as Cain stood above him.

"Good morning, have a good nap?" he asked sardonically, and Jezabel's only response was to close hsi eyes again, groaning.

Cain shared a look with Riff, shaking his head at the State Of This Bullshit.

"Oi. Come on then, up, wake up! This is no inn, Doctor, open your damn eyes!"

And he did so, slowly and blearily, and very much unwillingly. In the electric lights of the room, his skin looked sallow and washed out, more so than usual, unless this was just his general pallor at the moment.

"There we are, nice of you to join us," Cain quipped, raising his eyebrows and leaning back casually on his heals. "Now how about you and I have a chat, Dr. Disraeli?"

Jezabel did not immediately react to Cain's wit, a reality that struck him on a very sour note. Instead he let his eyes close once more, but it was not a soft, restful look upon his face. Rather, he looked pinched and pained, his eyes wrinkling at their corners, and Cain could almost hear a wheeze to his breathing over the sound of his own impatiently tapping foot.

"Jezabel, stop ignoring-"

"Lord Cain, perhaps the doctor will be more apt to answer us once his bleeding has stopped and he's had a rest?"

Cain looked more than a little offended towards Riff, silently asking which side he was on here. Jezabel Disraeli was not a foe to be taken lightly at all; though foppish and extravagant, with a penchant for dramatics, he was a powerful man, lithe and quick, and Cain was more than a little nervous about having him within the walls of his home. A united front against him was their best bet, honestly. But Riff did not wither under his glare as he had hoped.

"I only mean," he acquiesced, his voice gentle for the benefit of both brothers, "that he doesn't seem to be in his right mind at present. He might be drunk, or ill; he did faint on your uncles office floor, after all."

Apparently this was news to Jezabel, who looked up at the two men now, squinting in the bulb light, and quietly perked, "Oh? I did...?"

Skepticism colored Cain's attitude as he turned towards Riff, but his servant only gave a steady breath and shrugged, making it clear that he had no answers here.

"At least let me have a look at him" Riff implored, "to see if this is all just one of his acts, then we can proceed from there, alright?"

And Cain really had no other option but to agree.

)o(

Jezabel had no memory of what lead him to waking up in a strange room, atop a bed very much not his own. These drapes, this carved ceiling, the smells of lavender and cedar so unlike the antiseptic and bergamot of his own bedroom. The men before him, however, he knew all too well, and it was only lethargy and the pounding ache in his head that kept him from reacting in violence. God, though, why did Cain talk so incessantly? His voice was grating, his very presence setting Jezabel's nerves on edge...though it was the other one that made his belly twist.

As Riff gained permission from his master to approach him, Jezabel immediately balked, gathering up his strength to try and evade Riffael's unwanted touch. His captors seemed to have planned for his obvious event, though, and Jezabel found out quickly that he wasn't going to be going anywhere. Gold cord, soft as silk but solid as chain, wound around his wrists, a feeling that was all too familiar and very much unwelcome.

Shit...shit shit SHIT, how did this even happen? Last he remembered was his office earlier that night. A glass of wine and opium made for a bitter crutch towards his pile of work...did he overdose again? Last time that happened he woke up half undressed on the stairs to the cellar 12 hours after his dose, able to see his father standing above him but unable to hear anything he was saying. His foggy, piecemeal memory definitely lead to the idea of an overdose, but the stabbing pains all over his body alluded to more violent goings-on.

"What...the Hell am I...doing here?" he spat, having to carefully form each syllable, the sounds heavy and sticky on his tongue.

Cain clucked dismissively beside him as Riff cautiously eased himself down on the edge of the single bed.

"You tell me, doctor, you're the one who came bursting into my house at midnight!"

Oh, dear...no, he certainly didn't recall that, and the lack of answer was doing nothing to quell the rising anxiety in his belly. Also adding to that was Riff, who seemed personally dedicated to scaring the living hell out of Jezbabel. He moved towards him again, and this time Jezabel didn't have anywhere to go. Riffael's hand cupped his cheek, gently and not for the first time, and Jezabel did the only thing he could do with his hands bound. He coiled giving only a glare in warning, before-

"Sonofabitch, he bit me!"

And how! What else was he suppose to do with that sadistic asshole leering towards him?

"Careful, Riff, we might have to take you out back and shoot you," Cain chided, looking like he wanted to give Jezabel the same treatment. "Fucking madman."

Madman? Cain was one to throw stones! If only he knew what sort of activities his beloved Riff was known to indulge in within the confines of Delilah!

Unfortunately, Jezabel hadn't even been able to break skin, and within a few moments Riff seemed to have recovered enough to show that he learned absolutely nothing from the ordeal. Again, though with more caution, he turned towards Jezabel, this time having the common sense to speak first.

"Doctor, you're bleeding, rather profusely even, from your head...look, your eyes are uneven, and you've fainted. You're already here, and you're an intelligent enough man to know we aren't going to be letting you go anytime soon. Let me have a look at your wounds, if for no other reason so that when you make your escape we will be on even ground, hm?"

It was meant to be taunting more than anything, and both brothers knew this, but neither seemed to find the humor in it. Actually, it only made Jezabel's heart pound quicker, and his breath become more shallow. He didn't remember coming here, he didn't remember why he would have been bleeding. At least, not solidly. There was the faint recollection of sounds, his father's raised voice, a sickening crack...but those were the sort of things he would hear on any given Wednesday, and were no solid indication of how he spent his night. Whatever had occurred, had landed him tied to a bed in Cain's house, and he was racking his brain trying to figure out the best way to get the hell out. But, God, his head hurt, and the harder he tried to concentrate the more the world swam around him. Colors and shapes blurred together, noises mixing in to the point where he could barely tell his ears from his eyes, and all of it worked together to make his belly feel quite sick. Dear Jesus, the pitting look Riff gave him; he prayed his unease was not easy to read on his face.

Well...what choice did he have but to allow them to have their way? Not like Riffael ever let him have personal autonomy on his own body anyway. He was no Cassandra, perhaps, but he too seemed to find Jezabel to be a public commodity.

So, needing to bide his time and try to figure out what happened and, subsequently, what to do now, Jezabel stilled, but remained silent, rather than giving outward permission to be touched. It was enough, he knew, for Riff to continue.

"Thank you," Riff sighed, and Jezabel wanting to vomit at that tone, that voice.

He held perfectly still as Riff's hand returned to his jaw, and gently tipped his face towards him, catching the light from the bracket on the wall, peering intently into his eyes. Jezabel's headache increased, and he immediately tried to close his eyes from the light.

"Do you feel ill?"

"...yes," he answered dully, hating his treacherous tongue.

Riff nodded, letting go of Jezabel's face, and slipped his hand down to the side of his neck to time his pulse, Jezabel's wrists currently unavailable. He timed it with his pocket watch, and Jezabel eyed him curiously as Riff's expression grew heavy with concentration.

"Your pulse is fast, Doctor, but thready. You need something to replace your fluids, you've been bleeding quite a bit...will you let me look at the wound on your head?"

"As though you would really allow me that choice now that you've decided to play my surgeon AND warden?"

Cain looked ready to roll his eyes into the back of his head, and Jezabel would return the same if it didn't hurt his head even further. It was almost as painful as the soft, patronizing look Riff gave him, a semi-smile.

"You don't need to make this any harder than it needs to be, Doctor. You know you arne't exactly our favorite person nor us, yours. But you came her eon your own accord, Doctor, to which we thank you, so please allow me to help you suffer as little as possible."

False philanthropic bullshit- God, his stomach hurt, and his growing nausea was all that was keeping him from fighting this shit. Well, and his headache, and the growing terror at having no idea what happened, or what was GOING to happen.

Riff took charge easily, telling Cain to stay here, and stand guard over their unwilling patient as he gathered up supplies, which just filled both men with such joy. Really, Riff didn't look like he fully trusted Cain to be alone with Jezabel, but he would make an excellent guard, they all knew, so he promised to be quick as he trotted out. Perfect, obedient puppy.

"So," Cain said lightly as soon as they were alone, arms crossed and looking the picture of privileged delight. "It's been far too long since we got to have a proper bit of night-spending, hm? Shall we stay awake the night through and braid each others hair?"

Oh, Jezabel hadn't wanted so badly to gouge out Cain's throat for, oh, a good 6 days at least, and he gave a firm tug on his tethering, but they held firm. Whatever sort of knots Riff used were terrifically effective, because of course they were!

Slogging through the gunk in his mind, Jezabel drug his words together, and was proud to only slur a few of them.

"Just shut up, you pompous twat. I'm already bound in your bed, isn't that enough humiliation for me?"

"Oh dear big brother this doesn't even scratch the surface of what you owe me!" Cain laughs, and God, but sometimes it pains Jezabel, how much Cain looks like their father, whereas he himself so easily passed as the adopted child. "You stalk me, you kidnap my sister, you make multiple attempts on my life while covering for our madman of a father- you are so lucky I don't just put a bullet in your head where you lay."

"And why don't you?" Jezabel wanted to know, and by now his panic and his rage were brewing within him to a point where even his own words were beginning to lose sense, and he seemed so very disconnected from all this drama.

"What, and toss away this golden opportunity?" Cain crowed. "No no, I've been wanting to get you alone for a talk for some time now, Doctor. You and I have a lot to catch up on."

Oh for God's sake, it was obvious what he wanted behind all this preening. Information, a fleeting sense of safety and the power that came with it. Insecure brat, Jezabel thought, only mildly ware of the irony. 

He opened his mouth, ready to toss back his own saucy retort, but his body had other ideas. His shoulders tensed and his eyes widened, then snapped shut, as he willed his stomach to stay down.

He was, regrettably, unsuccessful. Fortunately his scarce deity meant that there was only a bit of wine-red bile for him to spit up on the blanket next to him, but it was enough to have Cain absolutely disgusted. Honestly, the nerve, it wasn't like he could help it, or that he wanted to be lying in his own sick either!

Luckily (God help him for such an admittance!) Riff made good on his promise to be swift-footed, and arrived back just minutes later, arms burdened with hot water, towels, antiseptic, linen and several brown bottles. As soon as he saw the source of the rooms prickly atmosphere, he nodded curtly and began to gather up the blanket from beneath Jezabel, chiding Cain gently on not assisting him. Like Cain would willingly had gotten any nearer!

"Just as well, then," Riff sighed, and he eased Jezabel's head up to slip a thick, folded towel beneath him. Jesus, every movement made him feel even dizzier, and his little bout of sickness seemed to sap him of what little fight he'd had going. Riff seemed to read this as surrender, and rewarded him with a soft smile, his eyes far too kind for their current situation.

"Alright, let's see if we can get some of that blood cleared away," he began, dipping the clean cloth into the basin of water, wringing out most of it before cautiously applying it to Jezabel's brow. Instantly he drew away, hissing like a cornered tomcat; it stung from the open wound, and ached dreadfully from the bruising, even with the light touch that Riff applied. Of course this just would not do for his captors, and though he kept himself calm and level, Riff was insistent, and turned Jezabel's head back towards him, this time letting the cloth drape over his temple by only its own weight.

"There, not so bad hm? Just let the water soak for a few moments, loosen up the clots, then we can see how much of the bleeding is fresh...are you sure you don't recall how you were injured?"

A growl would have to suffice as Riff's answer, even if it wasn't totally honest. No, he did not remember how he was injured, insomuch as he couldn't recall the moment itself, but this was not a foreign wound to him. Indeed, it was a particular favorite of his father's, as often the simplest solution to a problem is the best. Just grab a handful of Jezabel's hair tightly and slam his head down onto the nearest hard surface. A desk, a dooknob, the corner of a wall, even the edge of his chair once. It was harsh and effective at shutting Jezabel the fuck up, sometimes even eradicating the memory of anything he'd been harping about. With the shooting pains and the blood, he was surely made very well antiquated with a piece of metal or wood. Although he didn't usually have such a lingering headache or nausea...a concussion, he was sure. Not his first, but goodness, it had been some time since he'd suffered one.

The cloth soaked into his hair, warm liquid running down his cheek. It might have been water, it might have been blood. Likely both, he didn't care much, and was doing his best to let his mind wander away from this hell. 

"Well, is he going to die?" Cain snipped as Riff checked the wound, barely heard over Jezabel's pained hisses.

"Oh I'm sure that would delight you!" Jezabel snapped, and Cain's eyebrows shot right up.

"Goodness no, not until I get what I want from you."

God, could Cain even know how such words twisted Jezabel's stomach?

"I want Riff to get you as patched up as he can, then you're going to have a nice long chat with me, arent you?"

"Go to Hell."

"I don't fancy a trip to your summer home, thank you."

"A murderer in your home and you still play wit."

"The murderer is a tethered foal in bed and poses me no threat," Cain said with satisfaction. "And surely th murderer knows when he's at the disadvantage. But I am not so cruel, Doctor. You tell me what I want to know, and I'll be sure to send you to a very nice asylum, rather than call the police."

Jezabel wanted to argue, but his breath was robbed from him after a particularly harsh scrape of cloth against his wound, feeling nearly like the skin was being ripped from his skull.

"Be careful you hacksaw, backwoods excuse for a surgeon!" 

Cain seemed more furious at the insult to his butler than he did Jezabel's very presence and made such known, threatening him very clearly for his tone. It was true, though. Riff acted with such assurance, as though his few years of medical school was anything to crow about.

"I'm sorry, Doctor, but the wound is...significant. It's going to need sutures, 4 or 5 by my guess...We have laudanum, there's no need for you to suffer-"

"Please, spare me your false mercy!" But oh the thought of laudanum was a delightful fantasy, the sharp, pungent taste overtaking the sweet wine, spreading warmth from his throat and belly through the rest of his body. Jezabel might not frequent the opium dens, but he was no stranger to morphine in all its forms, and with the stabbing pains radiating from his damned skull, he would love a sip-!

"Besides, like I would accept anything either of you tried to feed me."

Cain looked ready to smack him and add to his concussion, and Jezabel tried his damndest not to flinch because God he looked like Father when he was angry. He'd known this resemblance for the boys whole life, but it was only growing stronger as he approached manhood.

"You aren't good at paying attention, Jezabel. Why would I poison you when I have use for you?"

"Why would I tell you anything when I have nothing to gain from it? An asylum sounds no better to me than prison; I've seen what's in those "nice" hospitals for the insane, and it's still a hellhole!"

"Fine, would you rather I just shoot you instead?"

"You don't have the courage to do it!"

"Fine, you can do it without anesthetic if you so wish," Riff sighed, long suffering and obviously more than a little bit tense. "I frankly don't care either way, nor am I deeply invested in your well-being, but I'm not the sort to let a man suffer from injury and not help."

Oh what a darling, loyal mutt, Jezabel thought, as he bent down to dig through his satchel, drawing from it alcohol, a curved needle, a length of black string. All familiar, but familiarity did not breed comfort here, not in he least, and Jezabel worked hard to swallow the lump in his throat because suddenly, so suddenly, he longed for Cassian. That old brat, he was a pitiful nurse in most regards, paying little attention to any of Jezabel's infrequent lessons, but he had quite a hand with a needle. On more than one night, Jezabel had found himself on his belly in bed, Cassian deftly stitching his whipping wounds closed, Jezabel hardly feeling each pinch, stab and pull...somehow he doubted Riff would be nearly as kind, nor chatter to him while he worked, weaving a spell of Roma fairy stories for his patient, nor did he expect Cain to curl up with him once it was done, and tell him he was brave. So very stupid, and so very brave...

It HURT. The alcohol burned down to the bone, and it ripped the air from his lungs and tears from his eyes. Jezabel dug his heels into the mattress and his hands flexed, reaching desperately for something to hold onto, and found only curtain cord.

"Aw, have you changed your mind about that laudanum?" Cain taunted, sitting back in his chair with his stocking feet propped up on the bedside table. Jezabel longed to lash out at him, add his brothers blood to the mess of the room rather than just his own, but several factors prevented this. SO he had to stare at Cain's pleased, superior grin, or what he could see through tear-heavy eyes.

Blessedly, Riff was better with a needle than he could have expected. That was not to say the experience was painless, but it was not the dark-ages torture that Jezabel had been bracing himself for. Surely it was better than some of the quacks under his tutelage at Delilah. Nimble hands made quick work of it, though there was no hiding the fact that by the end, Jezabel was bathed in his own sweat and shaking. From chill, from bloodloss, from pain, but fear. It was a...very complicated night. Or morning, he supposed, with the mantle clock chiming 3am now. 

)o(

3am, and here he was, sitting vigil over his madman of a brother. Riff had done a fine job getting him patched up; the track of black stitches above his temple was neat and orderly and would heal with little scarring, just another white line across Jezabel's body. 

Speaking of which-

"Come now, let's get you out of those filthy clothes", Riff began, packing away his medical supplies, and Cain and Jezabel both balked. They had already eased him from his white coat, shoes and tie while he was unconscious, but he still wore layers of shirts and vests and a waistcoat, not to mention his trousers, none of which could be comfortable in bed. not that Jezabel's comfort was of any concern to him.

"Yes, and how do you plan to strip me with my arms tied to the bed?" Jezabel challenged with a smile proud from his arrogance but crooked from exhaustion.

Well. Challenge accepted, then, Cain thought, and within moments, armed with a pair of shears, the two of them managed to cut away his upper clothes. They were thoroughly destroyed anyway, so it was of no great loss. 

Jezabel, however, seemed to disagree, and he began to howl, putting up an impressive fight for a man so devoid of health.

"How dare you!" he spat, pulling so hard against his bindings that Cain thought in passing that he might slice his wrists open, bleed out, and all their efforts would have been for nothing anyway. Such a waste. 

"Oh hush up, Jezabel, don't you know a bit of kindness when it's shown you?" Cain asked, ignoring the pang of regret he felt at asking such a glib question. No, no, that emotion needed to see itself out now, thank you, just lock that back away with all the other bits of care he'd felt during Jezabel's macabre story hour.

No, no, he was wholesale dismissive of Jezabel's protestations. Well, at least, he was until his linen undershirt was cut away, sodden and red, to reveal the ends of long-healed wounds.

Cains belly went cold, and suddenly his bravado melted away, the cocky attitude he put up to block out the unsure horror of having Jezabel fucking Disraeli in his home, so easily gaining access to where he slept and ate and played with his sister. Suddenly it seemed to be...not the best idea o cut Jezabel's clothes from his body. He lie, still, on his back, being about the only way he COULD lie with his wrists tied over his head, and from this angle only some of the scars were visible. Thin, tapering bits licked his ribs and curled over his shoulders, even a few at his upper arms, but those weren't the only ones. Down his chest, straight down his breastbone, was a pink, jagged line, raised in some spots, puckered in others, a grotesque memento of the nigh impossible surgeries his small body had undergone in an attempt to prolong a stolen life.

Jesus Christ, his whole body was a mess of them. There was another line below his belly button, which could have been a stab wound. A few burn marks peppered his upper chest and forearms, not to mention the small, thin line beneath his eye, courtesy of Cain himself. Oh, dear, there was that bothersome moment of completely unneeded guilt again. How bothersome. No matter was sort of sob story Jezabel had, that hardly absolved him of his body count or bloodshed, and Cain would do well to remember that, no matter what the nightmares proclaimed.

"... ... right, then. Let's just get some extra blankets. Riff, make sure there's plenty of coal for the night, so he'll be warm."

Riff eyed his master, but was silent as he left to do as he was told, and once again, Alexis's boys were left to their own devices.  
Oh how very lovely.

)o(

Jezabel trembled, now mostly from the c old, but not exclusivity. There was, in no small part, the lingering panic from his earlier violation and his persistent dehydration. At least the latter could be cured more or less easily, but he couldn't bring himself to ask for water. First of all he had no free hands with which to hold a glass, and he didn't fancy the idea of being spoon fed. Or drank. Whichever. It still entailed Cain having to do it for him, and he didn't want Cain anywhere near him right now. Or ever.

God, he was tired. It was nearing 5am now, and his bones ached, his eyes were sandpaper and he had a migraine. At least, it felt like one, and he would know, being predisposed to those sick, all consuming headaches. But no, in all technicality he was merely dealing with the after effects of a moderate brain injury. Swelling, pressure, bruising, all par for the course right now. Were he his own patient he would prescribe bed rest, low lights, quiet, and fluids. So of course, fuck all that, he wasn't worth adequate care, and he didn't think his nursemaid was up to being the soothing, gentle type.

Cain hadn't left his bedside thus far, but he harbored no delusions of fondness. Cain was not here to coddle him, he was here to guard him, and exhaustion was begining to line his own face. Go to bed, Jezabel had told him several times, each one becoming more slurred, more drug out. Leave me alone. Naturally, though, Cain had refused, each time making some speech about not letting Jezabel out of his sight, not trusting him as far as he could throw him, blah blah. Martyr, he fancied himself, and Jezabel was sure he was getting off on this power trip. 

It was uncomfortable, it was infuriating, but most prominently it was awkward. Jezabel couldn't sleep, Cain was refusing to sleep, and it all compounded into such a mess here, a standoff with neither side showing any hint of backing down.

And he was so damned cold. Cain and Riff had provided plenty of blankets and, at gunpoint and with much wrangling, they had readjusted his makeshift restraints, running the cord beneath the bed, allowing Jezabel's arms to rest more naturally at his sides, which he supposed was an improvement, and they had slipped a dressing robe onto him at this point, but even with dry clothes and several blankets, he still felt the chill of the May night. Honestly, it was nearly summer, the nights were mild, why was he shivering? And why was Cain here to leer over him?? It was disgustingly voyeuristic, and he just...so tired...he kept looking over at the fire crackling still in the hearth, for lack of anything better to look at and for confirmation that it was indeed still burning, but the warmth seemed reluctant to reach him. Surely it was too early for the chills of a fever to set in, should his wound have become infected, but the relating possibilities all came back to weakness of the mind, which was so much more terrifying to him than weakness of the mind. Again he longed for his bed back home, or even a narrow iron cot down in Delilah's hospital. Either would be very welcome right now, with Father poking in to check on him, to give Jezabel a chance to beg for an apology for...well, whatever it was he had done to incur his wrath that night. That entire mess was still a blur, not being aided by his lethargy, exhaustion, or pain.

Ah, yes, his headache was reaching debilitating levels by this point, a splitting throb not just at the sight of the wound, but also deep into hsi skull and behind his eyes, the pain reaching down to sicken his stomach. He'd spit up again, a mess of bile and saliva, and he'd yet to emotionally recover from that humiliating endeavor.

None of this was helped at all by his younger brother playing sentinel.

"Why don't you go the hell to bed?" Jezabel wanted to know, and hoped his words didn't sound nearly as slurred as they seemed to. That was a level of shame he didn't need. However, Cain's befuddled look of concentration told him his prayers were, as always, unheard.

"Huh? Bed, was it? Oh no, we're not leaving you alone."

"And what am I going to do, Cain, use telepathy to undo the knots binding my wrists?"

Cain's eyes narrowed in measured skepticism. "How should I know? I've seen that sort of hocus-pocus you toss around, I've seen you raise the bloody dead. For all I know, a square look could set the room ablaze!"

"Oh, please," Jezabel scoffed, "If I had such magic you would no longer be breathing.

Quite satisfactorily, Cain seemed to have no retort for this, and again the pair slipped into a tense, uncomfortable silence, Jezabel wishing for something to take his mind off the pain, wishing for sleep.

Another hour passed, and dawn was beginning to tinge the sky beyond the windows pink. On the East, then, was his room, and Jezabel silently dreaded the rising sun. The curtains were left open and the window cracked for the circulating air, and he doubted his headache could withstand a sunrise.

It was a surprise, then, and a befuddling one, when Cain stood up, stretching in such a way as to crack several bones along his spine, and crossed with stiff legs to snap the drapes closed.

"How kind of you."

"Oh don't flatter yourself, Disraeli, I'm just still hoping you'll fall asleep and leave me in peace for an hour."

"Oh, which is it then, do you want me asleep or do you want me to talk?"

"Honestly I want you locked away in a mental facility but I'm patient, I can wait for that."

Pampered, inbred son of a bitch.

Seven in the morning and Jezabel was not in a good place. He'd been up for 26 hours, and things were starting to go very dim around the edges of his vision. Riff had personally delivered a tray for his breakfast, offering to help Jezabel to eat while Cain washed and had a change of clothes, but while the earl took the offer to clean up, Jezabel refused both the food, and the medication on the tray.

"Your pride is matched only by your vanity," Cain said breezily upon returning with a fresh shirt and morning coat, hair damp from a quick brush-through.

Jezabel didn't have the strength to fight him on this, and only did his best to turn over which, considering his bindings, mostly meant rotating his legs and hips a few degrees in the opposite direction. God, being awake hurt, but every time he closed his eyes, he saw red, and not in pretty, warm puddles of blood like he enjoyed, but rageful red, flashes of it pooling over his eyes, along with the sickening crack of his skull against a desk-

For a third time, Jezabel felt the acid in the back of his throat, burning and bitter, and fought to keep it down, and to hide his retching from Cain, but the little detective was as astute as ever. 

"Oh for God's sake- here, you're going to choke to death and then what use would you be to me?" Cain strode over, grabbed Jezabel from under his arms, and hauled him up against the mound of pillows at the head of the bed, giving his back a few good thumps, harder than he needed to, and Jezabel saw his face [ale as his palm met with the raised cords along his back. Through his watery eyes and sputtering, he glowed a bit, glad once more to use his suffering to haunt the little bastard a bit. 

Cain turned resolutely away and began to fuss with the tray still sitting at Jezabel's bedside, picking up a pot of once hot water gone cold. He poured some into a china cup and, slipping to Jezabel's side, pressed the delicate rim to his lips.

"It's WATER," he ground out at Jezabel's continued insistence to be difficult. "Just drink it!"

Just being told to made Jezabel want to refuse even further, but his mouth tasted horrid from the bile, and he was dreadfully thirsty...he blamed the concussion. He was surely a man of far stronger convictions on a good day, but with his headache and his growing vertigo...fine. He parted his lips and let Cain awkwardly pour a sip of water into his mouth, and then another when he'd swallowed the first bit. It seemed to feel the cracks in his throat, and he could feel the coolness pool all the way to his belly. It was soothing, welcome, and he allowed Cain to fee him the rest of the shallow cup; just a few mouthfuls, just enough to rinse away the acid, but tit was something.

"Was that so damn hard?"

"Torturous," he swore, but Cain didn't seem to be done. Determined to not look at Jezabel directly, he picked up a slice of bread, spread on it a bit of raspberry jam, and then tore it into small chunks. Oh, surely he wasn't going to-

"Open."

Jesus Christ. Jezabel's hands tightened against his bindings. At least, he tightened them as much as he could; he felt weak, like once did when they first woke up in the morning, though that was most certainly not his current problem. His current problem was a head injury and the inability to properly fight off his obviously mad younger brother, trying to force feed him bread and jam and- well, it was tasty, at least, though he was sure his cheeks were turning the same color as the raspberries.

No words were exchanged. Neither had any. Hell, Cain was barely able to look at him directly in the face as he helped him finish his sorry excuse for breakfast.

"There," he said coldly as he fed Jezabel the last bite. "Now at least next time you're sick you'll actually have something to throw up."

Jezabel could only hope Cain was in reach.

)o(

He was trying to sleep, he was, truly, but God in Heaven his body was broken. By noon, Riff was in again to tend to him, and Jezabel just did not have the strength needed to fight him off, which was not lost on either man. He just let Riff sit down at his side, tipped his head back to have his pulse checked, let him peer in his eyes, down his throat, listen to his heart and, of course, remove the bandages of his wound to look at the sutures, and clean them.

"No sign of infection, that's good," he appraised, as though his gentle words could soften the blistering burn of the iodine being swabbed over raw skin. "Sorry, I know it stings something dreadful, Doctor, and I have offered you laudanum again..."

And he refused it, again, Food and water was bad enough, but the idea of accepted a concoction from the early of poisons was not an enticing idea at all. That little brat was still lingering around, looking more than a little ragged himself from no sleep and his constant watch. Deep circles rimmed beneath his pretty eyes, and Jezabel had to guess he looked about as bad. 

Riff carefully redressed his wound, winding strips of gauze over his brow and into his hair to keep the padding in place; it was still wanting to bleed, though much less now. He ought to rest, Riff advised, and he very conspicuously left a bottle of pills on the bedside table, as though wanting to leave temptatiowithin sight.

And oh, Jesus, was it a temptation. Having Riffael so close for so long was as exhausting as a whole night with Cain five feet away, and he longed for free hands to claw at his own skin.

The click of a door lock and, again, they were alone.

)o(

"So what happened?"

"I told you, I don't remember the...the specifics. Probably pissed off dear father, you know how it goes, don't you little brother?"

"Oh we're on terms of endearment now are we, older brother?"

"We're on whatever terms you like, Earl, you're obviously the one lording control over the invalid here."

"Oh, my terms is it? Then tell me where I can find Alexis."

"Fuck off."

Thus went the afternoon between the mad doctor and the darling of London gossip, neither of whom had gotten any sleep, both of whom were showing it, Jezabel especially. He swore, it was like he could almost nod off for a moment, only for every little light or movement or sound to not only wake him, but startle him. The worst times were the ones that came with more flashes, the smell of tobacco, his father's always calm voice scolding him, his own screaming back "Fuck off, Alexis, let me work!"

Well. Perhaps that's what landed him here with a bleeding forehead and a horribly aching body. They had untied him long enough to use the wash room, and it was very hard to pee with a half open door, knowing there was a gun pointed at one at the other side. Hell, he wasn't even able to walk there or back without assistance...of course he tried to fun for it though. In his exhausted mind, Cain wouldn't be any more well off than he was, and would thus be a terrible shot. And he might have been, had he actually gotten more than arms reach away from Riff before he fell, just about reopening his wound.

And now he was back in bed, this time on his side, his hands tied together into one bundle. A small, welcome mercy, and he hoped the extra mobility would help him to sleep.

And he hoped, and hoped, till he started to see the flowers in the wallpaper move, till he vomited up a sludge of berries and bread, till they finally forced a spoonful of bitter brown liquid down his throat to make him shut the fuck up and go the fuck to sleep.

Jezabel was very determined to fight it. He was use to dipping into the medicine cabinet, and he was very sure that whatever they gave him surely couldn't effect him. Hell, Cain looked as tired as he did even without a spoonful of opium in his belly.

"And what happens when I'm healed enough to no longer be easy to control?" Jezabel wanted to know, and Cain, leaning heavily onto his hand, could only shrug.

"Iron shackles hold better than silk cord," he said casually, indicating Jezabel's still current method of bondage, and he glowered at his younger brother.

"You know father will be looking for me."

"Lovely," Cain said, yawning. "I've been wanting a chat with our old man anyway, and if he simply came to me it would be so much easier."

"You wouldn't even be alive to have your questions answered," Jezabel threatened, hoping he seemed more intimidating than he felt. Going on 30 hours now, not his longest, but bloodloss is a bitch.

"Father doesn't scare me."

"Then you're a fool."

"Why, Jezabel, does our beloved father scare you?"

Immediately Jezabel's mind was filled with that sound again, and father's voice, the steady thrum of scripture, and he closed his weary eyes, wanting those sounds and smells and visions to just go away. Too tired was he to fight them off on his own.

"Father is no one to be feared if you don't give him reason to be frightening," he answered, and even with his eyes closed he could all but feel Cain's judgmental look.

"You tell yourself that often growing up, Jezabel?" he taunted, but when Jezabel's bloodshot violet eyes met his own, his cocky confidence seemed to falter.

"And you didn't have your own ways to survive?" Jezabel growled back, and Cain's smile returned to his face.

"How is it you need to survive someone who loves you, Doctor?"

God, one of these days he was going to get his hands on that pale, pretty neck of Cain's and just slit him ear to ear...God, why was the room weaving and twisting so much around him?"

"You...you stop talking about shit you don't know anything about," Jezabel protests, wishing his voice didn't sound so small. "You got out, didn't you?"

Cain snorted, still leaning onto his palm. "Oh, sure, after a childhood growing up after that monster. What's the first 12 years of your life, huh?"

"No easier than the last 14 years of mine." Jesus, Cain brought out the worst in him, eliciting all these angry, forbidden thoughts and dangerous words he would never dare to speak otherwise. "I have the same scars as you do, Cain, so don't cry to me about your hardships."

For five blessed seconds, Cain was silent, his golden green eyes heavy lidded but hard, his thin lips pursed.

"Hmf. If you ask me, then, we both have reason to be crying about our hardships. I saw your back last night, you know."

Shit, was it really only last night? it already seemed so damn long ago to Jezabel.

"Oh, I recall your hands all over my body, yes, ripping my clothes off-!" His voice wavered at the end, and he closed his eyes again, to compose himself, but it was growing so, so hard to pry them back open again. "Honestly, it's not very hospitable of you to think you can just get me naked without so much as a courtship first."

Cain looked ready to bite his throat out, if it wouldn't take so much effort.

"Right, and it's so much kinder to break into someones house."

"I don't even remember coming here, Cain, let alone why I would break in! You aren't the person I would choose to go to after Father smashed my face into a wall!"

Shit. SHIT. He looked hurriedly at Cain, but he seemed to close to passing out, he didn't have the strength to gloat.

Much.

"Yeah, that's what I figured happened. Honestly, if you ask me, an asylum would be an improvement in your life."

"And since when are you interested in improving my life?" Jezabel wanted to know, his heart pounding in his chest.

"I'm not. God knows you don't deserve it. But thing is...I don't think anyone deserves a lifetime under Father's rule, either."

Silence hung between them, filled only with the swaying of the room around them, the crackling fire, and the last bits of light from the setting sun.

"I don't need you to save me any more than I needed Cassian," Jezabel slurred, and if Cain wondered after hie words, of that name, he didn't voice it, and Jezabel wasn't interested in offering explanations. He was interested in home, in Father, in bed...though for now, the one below him didn't seem...quite so bad. He was warm, finally, the trembling slowed by the medication starting to work its way through his veins, wrapping tendrils around him and wanting to drag him so, so far down.

"Jus...Just sleep, Jezabel. if nothing else, we deserve to rest."

Darkness fell over Jezabel's world.

)o(

When Riff came by to check on supper and saw Cain bent double over the side of Jezabel's bed, he panicked, and was at his side in just 4 steps, immediately wondering if, somehow, Cain's sarcastic marks had come true, an Jezabel had managed to somehow magic him to death. But, no, no, Lord Cain breathed still, as did the madman, both of them finally under the spell of exhaustion. He checked Jezabel quickly for a fever, but his skin was no warmer than he would expect, so he merely took a spot by the fireplace, silently watching them both in case one woke first and wanted the advantage, and he waited, as the two brothers slept side by side, their hands just a hair's breadth away from touching.

Reaching out, even to someone so close, was dangerous.


End file.
